


Building Castles In The Air

by Ignisentis



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And his head isn't a great place to be right now, Angst, Because I'm a sap like that, Brief suicidal thoughts, Canon-Typical Violence, Hopeful Ending, Lots of references to blood, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:56:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7902247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ignisentis/pseuds/Ignisentis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The asset doesn't feel. It doesn't need to. The asset doesn't think. It doesn't need to. The asset does what it's told. The asset does what it's trained to do.</p><p>When the asset is not needed, they put it away in a cold, narrow tube. When the asset is not needed, its mind can wander. When its mind wanders, it finds Bucky. And Bucky dreams. He dreams of pain and blood, he dreams of death and destruction, and he dreams of blue eyes and blond hair and a sweet, sweet smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Becoming

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, intrepid readers!
> 
> Before you is my entry for Thestuckylibrary's Stucky Big Bang 2016. They've done an awesome job putting everything together! Go show them some love! This is also my first Stucky fic, and only my third overall, so constructive criticism is great as long as you remember the constructive part, please!
> 
> Thanks to my beta and artist, claredevil, and my second artist, idontunderstandhowthishappened, for all your hard work! It's been a pleasure working with you both! I'll update with links to their art shortly!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

“ _If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.”_

~Henry David Thoreau

  


There's a blast, and Bucky feels searing heat and pressure in his ears, and then he's weightless as he's forced away.  He flails his arms out and grabs hold of a bar as the frigid air whips around him.  His heart’s pounding in his chest and he can't seem to catch his breath.

He looks up and Steve's desperately reaching for him, and Bucky calms because Steve's there, and Steve will save him just like he always does.

There's a sharp crack and then someone is screaming, screaming, and Bucky is weightless again, but this time he's scared because he knows there's nothing but sky underneath him. Steve is shouting, but the sharp wind carries his words away. Bucky watches Steve’s mouth move as he falls and thinks about how he never got to find out if his lips were as soft as they always looked.

He falls and falls and thinks of Steve, and he wishes he would just fucking hit the ground already, Christ almighty. And then he does.

He wakes, disoriented, and there's pain on his left side, pain and blood. Bright red blood on crisp snow, trailing away from him like a lazy mountain stream. He's moving somehow but his legs are still, and fear blossoms sharp in his chest before he passes out and the darkness claims him.

He wakes. He's lying on a metal table, arm and legs restrained. The room is spinning violently, and his stomach cramps. He tastes bile at the back of his throat, but then a shadow across the room moves toward him and he swallows heavily, closes his eyes, and wills the room to stop spinning. When he opens his eyes again, the shadow has turned into a man. The man moves toward him, one side of his mouth curling up into a smile.

“It is good to see you awake, comrade. We weren't sure you would pull through,” he says in heavily accented English.

“Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant. 32557038.”

The man laughs. “We are on the same side, comrade! There's no need for formalities.”

He smiles. Bucky thinks he's trying to be reassuring, but he looks wolfish instead. Bucky’s stomach tightens, and a chill runs down his spine. _No. Not again._ He turns his face toward the ceiling.

“Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant. 33557038.”

Bucky watches as the man takes a step back, his smile gone as he silently assesses Bucky.  He nods once, respectfully, saying “suit yourself” as he moves over to a tray of medical supplies.  He picks up a hypodermic needle and sticks it into Bucky’s arm.

“Goodnight, Barnes, James Buchanan. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Bucky only has a moment to panic before he slips into oblivion.

He opens his eyes and regrets it immediately. The room tilts violently, and his stomach churns. His left side feels heavy, but that can’t be right. His arm’s gone, he should feel light. He risks a glance and sees a hand, an elbow. Metal. Shiny, glorious metal, and it’s sleek and gorgeous and it’s all wrong. It’s wrong, and Bucky doesn’t want it. He doesn’t _want_ it, and he’s filled with hot rage, so he lashes out. He kicks and thrashes, but he’s not used to the new weight of his arm, and he’s still weak from the fall, so he’s easily subdued.

The man comes to stand by his side, wearing a white lab coat and holding some sort of book. He’s wearing his wolfish smile again, and Bucky wants to punch it off his smug face.

“How fitting of you to wake at daybreak, comrade; a new day, a new start.”

“I’m not your comrade,” Bucky spits. “You said before that we’re on the same side. So why haven’t you returned me to my unit?”

The man laughs. “Yes, I’m sure you’re longing for your friends and your home. One day perhaps you will see them again. But we both know today is not that day. Nor will tomorrow be. Not nine days, not seventeen. No, your homecoming will not be for a very long time yet.”

Bucky growls as he reaches for the man. He hears laughter as he slips into the darkness once again.

He wakes a few hours later, bracing himself for vertigo as he opens his eyes. It never comes. No nausea, no pain at all, in fact. He feels...almost good, which is worrisome because he just had a metal fucking arm surgically attached to his body. Shouldn’t he be weaker?

He looks around the room. He’s lying on a narrow bed in a small white room. There’s a thick window on one wall framed by threadbare white curtains, a small table with one chair against another wall. He’s alone. Standing up, he moves to the window to see if it opens. Maybe he can escape. The window doesn’t open. It’s too thick. Maybe if he hits it with his metal arm it will break.

He raises his arm and looks out the window. There’s a large tree a little ways away, and it’s budding. The grass is starting to green again, and there’s no snow in sight.

_No, that can’t be right,_ Bucky thinks.  _It should be winter still._ There’s a sharp, stabbing pain in his head, and he drops to his knees..

He wakes. There’s a tray of food on the table, a copy of “Crime and Punishment” next to the tray. He picks it up and starts reading. He’s three chapters in before he realizes it’s in Russian. There’s a sharp, stabbing pain in his head, and he drops to his knees.

He wakes. He’s drenched with sweat. The room is sweltering. He moves to the window to see if it opens. If it opens, there will be a breeze, and he can escape the heat that way. Or...just escape. Yes, maybe he can escape. The window doesn’t open, though. It’s too thick. Maybe if he hits it with his metal arm, it will break. He clenches his fist and raises his arm and freezes. There are voices outside his door. Two men enter the room, and they apologize for the heat.

“A rusted furnace went haywire and turned itself on. It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t summer and already hot. But don’t worry. It’s been taken care of. The temperature should start going down now. Have a nice day!” one of them says.

They turn and leave the room. Bucky looks out the window and sees the leaves, lush and full on the tree. He wonders how they grew so fast when they were just budding a few days ago. There’s a sharp, stabbing pain in his head, and he drops to his knees.

He wakes. He sits up and brushes the hair from his face. It tickles his nose, making him sneeze. He runs his flesh fingers through it a few times before tucking it behind his ears with a soft sigh. He doubts even the SSR would let him get away with such anti-regulation long hair.  The thought of Phillips’ sour face when he sees Bucky’s hair makes him chuckle.

Wait. Why is his hair so long suddenly? He’s only been here, what, a few days? It’s felt like a few days. Two weeks, tops. Surely not more than that? He thinks of the tree outside and runs to the window. The leaves are golden, beautiful in their dying throes.

“No. No, no no no no no no!” he shouts, banging his hands on the thick glass of the window. Surely if he hits hard enough he can break the window and escape.

The door bursts open after his third hit, and it takes five men to restrain him in his rage. The man in the white lab coat walks in, and Bucky’s stomach drops.

“You. What did you do to me? Why can’t I remember anything?”

The man smiles his wolfish smile. Bucky closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see it.

The man says, “You can’t remember because it is of little consequence. What we have done so far is of little consequence. But, oh, what we’re going to do to you next. We are going to transform you, James, into something more. You will be the terror in the night, death’s silent shadow. You will be the Winter Soldier.”

Then the pain starts.

He wakes. The room he’s in is large and dim. The smell of blood hangs thickly in the stale air. He hears water dripping, _pat pat pat, pat pat pat_ , but he can’t locate the source. The room is hot, and he feels sweat cascading down his back, feels it streaking down his face. A door opens, and he raises his hand to block the blinding light that spills in. There’s a man silhouetted in the doorway who pauses before entering the room and walking forward. Bucky starts to lower his hand, freezing halfway. His knuckles are scraped and bloodied. He checks his other hand. Those knuckles are bloody, too. He looks up when the man stops a few feet away.

“What did I do?” he asks desperately.

The man smiles.

“What did I do? Tell me what I did!!” he shouts.

“You don’t remember?” the man asks.

“No, I don’t. What did I do? Why don’t I remember?”

The man’s smile widens. “Excellent. The treatment is working better than we anticipated.”

Bucky feels his blood run cold. Not again. Christ in heaven, _not again._

“What treatment? He hisses.

“Goodnight, _soldat_.”

“What treatment?!” Bucky shouts.

“Longing. Rusted. Seventeen…”

“Answer me, god damnit!”

“...Daybreak, Furnace, Nine, Benign…”

Bucky clenches his fists and stalks toward the man, ready to beat an answer out of him.

“...Homecoming, One…

He raises his fist.

“...Freight Car.”

Darkness.

He wakes. The room he’s in is large and dim. The smell of blood hangs thickly in the stale air. There’s water dripping, _pat pat pat, pat pat pat_ , somewhere to his left. The room is hot, and he feels sweat cascading down his back, feels it streaking down his face. A door opens, and he raises his hand to block the light that spills in. There’s a man silhouetted in the doorway who pauses before entering the room and walking forward. Bucky starts to lower his hand, freezing halfway; there’s dried blood under his fingernails. He checks his other hand. The metal is clean. He looks up when the man stops a few feet away.

“What did I do?” he asks.

The man smiles.

“Tell me what I did.”

“You don’t remember?” the man asks.

“No, I don’t. What did I do?”

The man’s smile widens.

Bucky narrows his eyes.

“Goodnight, _soldat_.”

“Longing, Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak, Furnace, Nine, Benign…”

Bucky feels an itch under his skin; there’s something he’s supposed to be doing now, _right now,_ but he can’t remember what it is. Fight? Run? Why can’t he _remember_?

“...Homecoming, One…

Bucky’s head snaps us. _Escape!_

“...Freight Car.”

Darkness.

He wakes. The room he’s in is large, windowless, and dim. The smell of blood and gunpowder hang thickly in the stale air. There’s water dripping, _pat pat pat, pat pat pat_ , ten feet northwest of him. The room is hot, and he feels a bead of sweat slowly crawl down his face. The dried blood on his fingers is making them itch, but he holds them still. Light spills into the room as a door opens, and he steps further into the shadows. There’s a man silhouetted in the doorway who pauses before entering the room and walking to the center, where he stops. The man smiles.

The man’s smile widens.

Bucky narrows his eyes.

“Goodnight, _soldat_.”

“Longing, Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak, Furnace, Nine, Benign…”

Bucky feels an itch under his skin; there’s something he’s supposed to be doing now, _right now,_ but he can’t remember what it is.

“...Homecoming, One, Freight Car.”

Darkness.

He wakes. The room he’s in is large and windowless. The smell of blood, gunpowder, and fear hang thickly in the stale air. There’s water dripping, _pat pat pat, pat pat pat_ , near the wall ten feet northwest of him. The room is hot. There’s blood slowly dripping from his left hand, _pat...pat...pat._ He wipes his hand on his pants to stop the sound. Light spills into the room as a door opens, and he steps further into the shadows.  There’s a man silhouetted in the doorway who pauses before entering the room and walking to the center, where he stops and looks around. He scans the room once, twice, letting his eyes acclimate to the gloom. The man smiles.

“I know you’re here, _soldat._ ” The man waits.

Bucky slinks behind the man and stops, watching as the man turns toward him, beaming. Bucky feels an itch beneath his skin, but he pushes it down.

“You’re ready,” the man says. “Come.”

He leads Bucky into a different room, bigger, with high ceilings and dark corners. There’s a glass tube against one wall with various hoses and knobs and nozzles. There are a handful of people milling about trying to look busy, but Bucky can see them glancing nervously in his direction.

In the middle of the room sits a large chair with restraints and a metal halo. The man leads Bucky to it. A woman with cold eyes joins them. “We’ll have better results if we wipe him after he comes out of cryofreeze, not before,” she says. “A clean slate.” The man thinks for a moment and nods his head, acquiescing. He turns to Bucky. “Something to look forward to,” he says, chuckling darkly.

They lead Bucky back to the glass tube. He glowers at the two technicians who try not to tremble as they wipe the blood from his metal arm, as they undress and redress him in a tight sleeveless jumpsuit.

The woman pushes a small lever and the glass tube opens with a light hiss. She gestures to the opening and Bucky steps inside. “Face the other way,” she says, and Bucky turns around so he’s facing her. She pulls the lever back down, and the glass closes. Bucky feels his heart rate spike, and he takes a few deep breaths to slow it back down again. The woman starts fiddling with an instrument panel, adjusting knobs and pushing buttons. Bucky watches her.

“Phase Two ready,” she says.

The man steps into Bucky’s line of sight. He raises his hand and trails it down the glass fondly as he says, “and now the real work begins. Goodnight, _soldat._ ” He nods, and the woman presses a large red button.

White mist fills the chamber, hissing and crackling in Bucky’s ears. It’s bitterly cold, and Bucky feels his heart rate slow, his breathing shallow. He feels fuzzy. He thinks of red blood on deep white snow. He thinks of golden hair and silver bullets. He thinks of flying cars and fast trains. The cold gives way to white-hot agony, and he clenches his teeth and bites back a scream as his body freezes and he’s plunged into darkness yet again.

  
  
  



	2. Being

In cryofreeze, everything is darkness. Bucky floats in it, drifts through it. Time is irrelevant. There is only the darkness. Until there isn’t.

Only in the darkness can Bucky’s mind be free.

******************************

There’s a blond man in a white coat with a wolfish smile. He leads Bucky to a room with a window that overlooks a tree. There’s a metal table with restraints under blinding lights. The metal is cold, the restraints biting. Pain. There’s always pain. And blood. It drips down his hands, the pitter patter of it keeping time like a gruesome clock. The sound gets louder and louder in Bucky’s ears, drowning out the constant whirring of his metal arm. Drip. Drip. Drip.

There’s a brunette woman. She likes to flip a knife around in her hand while she teaches Bucky Russian. The knife is sharp, her words sharper. She gives Bucky guns and watches him shoot them. She smiles as he hits the target again and again. Her smile is bright and beautiful, and Bucky hates it, hates it. Nothing should be bright and beautiful in this place.

******************************

There’s a photo of a man. He’s graying, soft around the middle. He lives alone. He’s selling secrets to the Americans. He needs to die. They put Bucky in a truck and drive for hours and hours. They arrive late at night and find a safe house for the evening. In the morning, they drive Bucky to the man’s building. They sit in the car until the man leaves for work. Bucky breaks into his apartment and waits for the man to come home. He hears the man’s heavy footsteps and moves into position. He breaks the man’s neck before he knows Bucky’s there.

Bucky can hear the crack of the man’s neck echoing in his ears. He can feel the dead weight of the man as he lets him slide to the floor, leaving his body as it lies. Bucky fights down nausea as he silently makes his way out of the building.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s graying, soft around the middle. He lives alone. He’s selling secrets to the Americans. He needs to die. Bucky breaks into his apartment and waits for the man to come home. He hears the man’s heavy footsteps and moves into position. He breaks the man’s neck before he knows Bucky’s there.

Bucky can hear the crack of the man’s neck echoing in his ears.  Bucky fights down nausea as he silently makes his way out of the building.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s selling secrets to the Americans. He needs to die. Bucky breaks into his apartment and waits for the man to come home. He breaks the man’s neck before he knows Bucky’s there.

Bucky can hear the crack of the man’s neck echoing in his ears.  Bucky fights down nausea as he silently makes his way out of the building.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s selling secrets to the Americans. He needs to die. Bucky breaks the man’s neck before he knows Bucky’s there. Bucky fights down nausea as he silently makes his way out of the building.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s selling secrets to the Americans. He needs to die. Bucky breaks the man’s neck before he knows Bucky’s there.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s selling secrets to the Americans. He needs to die.

There’s a photo of a man. There’s a photo of a man. There’s a photo of a man.

He needs to die.

Bucky floats in the darkness.

*************************************

Bucky drags himself up the stairs, footsore. He hisses as the blisters on his hands catch on his pocket as he reaches for his keys. His hands are even more sore than his feet, and he groans when he fumbles his keys and drops them to the ground. He leans against the doorframe for a moment and takes a few deep breaths before bending down to retrieve his keys. “Thank fuck,” he sighs as he slots his key into the door and finally makes his way inside.

It’s hot in the apartment this time of year, but not as hot as the docks. At least the sun isn’t beating down on him anymore. Bucky walks over to the icebox and grabs himself an apple and a beer. He puts the beer against his forehead and sighs happily as the cold bottle chases the sweat away.

He knows Steve is home, so he goes in search of him. He finds Steve in the bedroom, curled up on his cot with a sketchbook on his lap. The setting sun is throwing golden light into the room, and it caresses Steve’s hair as he pushes it off his forehead. His brow is furrowed in concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking out from his lips as he makes broad strokes across the page.

Bucky stands in the doorway and watches Steve work, smiling as he curses and reaches for his eraser. Bucky’s stomach eventually gives him away, growling loudly to request some apple. Steve looks up at the noise, his mouth curling up into a large smile. “Hey, Buck,” he says. He’s golden, golden, and Bucky’s heart clenches. He smiles back and takes a bite of his apple and doesn’t tell Steve how beautiful he is in the dying light.

****************************

There’s a blond man in a white coat with a wolfish smile. There’s a metal table with restraints under blinding lights. The metal is cold, the restraints biting. There’s pain and blood. It drips down his hands, the pitter patter of it keeping time like a gruesome clock. Drip. Drip. Drip.

There’s a brunette woman. She likes to flip a knife around in her hand while she teaches Bucky Bulgarian. The knife is sharp, her words sharper. She gives Bucky maps and makes him memorize them. She gives Bucky architectural plans and makes him memorize them.

******************************

There’s a photo of a man. He’s wearing a white lab coat and glasses. His hair is black, his moustache peppered with gray. He’s a scientist, and his research is dangerous. He needs to die. His research needs to be destroyed. Bucky needs to send a message. They put Bucky on a plane and fly to Sofia. They drive to a safehouse and spend the night. They take Bucky to the lab building in the early hours of the morning, and he watches the building until the scientist enters. Bucky waits another half an hour before entering and heading for the scientist’s lab.

He shoots the scientist twice in the forehead,  _ tap tap _ , and moves away to clear the rest of the room. There’s a lab assistant in the corner who begs for his life.  _ Tap tap.  _ Bucky finds some chemicals that are flammable and splashes them around, making sure the scientist’s papers are doused. He uses a bunsen burner to light a fire and makes a hasty retreat. The building explodes as Bucky and the others drive away.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s wearing a white lab coat and glasses. His hair is black, his moustache peppered with gray. He’s a scientist, and his research is dangerous. He needs to die. His research needs to be destroyed. Bucky needs to send a message. They put Bucky on a plane and fly to Sofia. They take Bucky to the lab building in the early hours of the morning.

He shoots the scientist twice in the forehead,  _ tap tap _ . There’s a lab assistant in the corner who begs for his life.  _ Tap tap.  _ Bucky finds some chemicals that are flammable and splashes them around. He uses a bunsen burner to light a fire and makes a hasty retreat. The building explodes as Bucky and the others drive away.

There’s a photo of a man. His hair is black, his moustache peppered with gray. He’s a scientist, and his research is dangerous. He needs to die. His research needs to be destroyed. They put Bucky on a plane and fly to Sofia. They take Bucky to the lab building in the early hours of the morning.

He shoots the scientist twice in the forehead,  _ tap tap _ . There’s a lab assistant in the corner.  _ Tap tap.  _ Bucky uses a bunsen burner to light a fire and makes a hasty retreat. The building explodes as Bucky and the others drive away.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s a scientist, and his research is dangerous. He needs to die. They take Bucky to the lab building in the early hours of the morning. He shoots the scientist twice in the forehead,  _ tap tap _ . There’s a lab assistant in the corner.  _ Tap tap. _

There’s a photo of a man. He’s a scientist, and his research is dangerous. He needs to die.

There’s a photo of a man. There’s a photo of a man. There’s a photo of a man.

He needs to die.

Bucky floats in the darkness.

***********************************

It’s just Steve and him in the husk of a bombed-out building, sitting together and sharing a bottle of whisky that Steve got from who the hell knows where. The other Howlies are around somewhere, but Bucky sincerely doesn’t give a fuck at this point. It feels like forever since he and Steve had some time just the two of them, and Bucky isn’t going to squander it.

Steve can’t get drunk anymore, says the serum makes him metabolize the alcohol too fast for it to take. He likes drinking anyway, though, likes the burn of the whisky as it slides down his throat. He says, “it’s one of the only things that’s the same now as it was before.” He gets this wistful look on his face before trying to cover it with a little smile and another sip of whisky.

Bucky wants so desperately to be the same now for Steve, too, a bedrock he can build the foundations of his new life upon. Bucky takes another drink and closes his eyes and pictures himself from before the war. That Bucky is so young and innocent. That Bucky is a stranger. There’s no going back, he knows. He’d seen enough even before he was captured to know there’s no going back to what he was. But oh, how he wishes he could, if it would be a boon to Steve.

He opens his eyes and sees Steve look away quickly, a red flush coloring his cheeks and working its way down his neck. Bucky wants to follow its path with his tongue, wants to know if the pink skin tastes different. He looks up, and Steve is watching him intently, his mouth slightly parted. Bucky wants to kiss him stupid. Instead he takes a long pull of whisky and licks his lips. Steve’s eyes dart down to follow the movement, and something shakes loose in Bucky’s chest and starts fluttering wildly around his ribcage.  _ Please, God, just let me have this one thing. Just this one beautiful thing in this shithole of a war. _

Steve leans forward and then they’re kissing, soft and unsure. Bucky whimpers softly, and Steve pulls back. He’s wide-eyed, panicking. “Buck, I--” Bucky kisses him again to shut him up, and keeps kissing him because he can. Because Steve wants to. Because, inexplicably, he can have this. That thing inside Bucky’s chest bursts forth and flies out into the night sky, soaring, soaring.

Bucky knows that if Steve panics tomorrow, he’ll pretend he was drunk and doesn’t remember anything. Steve doesn’t have to know he can’t get drunk anymore, either. Steve doesn’t have to know Bucky’s scared about what that means. They’re going to the mountains tomorrow to chase a train, and Steve doesn’t need to be distracted worrying about Bucky. Tomorrow is tomorrow, though, so tonight, Bucky lets himself be kissed.

************************************

There’s a blond man in a white coat with a wolfish smile. There’s a brunette woman who likes to play with knives. There’s pain and blood and pain.

There’s a photo of a woman. She’s plump and pretty and unassuming. Her smile is endearingly lopsided. She’s a spy. She needs to die, and it has to look like a suicide. They drive for hours and hours. They take Bucky to her apartment building. She’s not home, so he preps the scene. He forges a suicide note. He removes her gun from her dresser drawer and holds it in his hand. He waits.

He hears the woman come home. She’s muttering to herself. She stops in the kitchen for a shot of vodka and a bite to eat. Bucky waits. He grabs her from behind as she enters her bedroom and chloroforms her. He lays her down on her bed and puts the gun in her hand, squeezes the trigger. Suicide, they’ll say. What a waste, they’ll say, she seemed like such a nice woman.

There’s a photo of a woman. She’s plump and pretty and unassuming. She’s a spy. She needs to die, and it has to look like a suicide. They take Bucky to her apartment building. She’s not home, so he preps the scene. He forges a suicide note. He removes her gun from her dresser drawer and holds it in his hand.

He hears the woman come home. She stops in the kitchen for a shot of vodka and a bite to eat. He grabs her from behind as she enters her bedroom and chloroforms her. He lays her down on her bed and puts the gun in her hand, squeezes the trigger. Suicide, they’ll say. What a waste.

There’s a photo of a woman. She’s a spy. She needs to die, and it has to look like a suicide. They take Bucky to her apartment building. She’s not home, so he preps the scene.

He hears the woman come home. He grabs her from behind as she enters her bedroom and chloroforms her. He lays her down on her bed and puts the gun in her hand, squeezes the trigger.

There’s a photo of a woman. She’s a spy. She needs to die, and it has to look like a suicide. They take Bucky to her apartment building. He hears the woman come home. He grabs her from behind as she enters her bedroom and puts a gun in her hand, squeezes the trigger.

There’s a photo of a woman. She’s a spy. She needs to die.

There’s a photo of a woman. There’s a photo of a woman. There’s a photo of a woman.

She needs to die.

Bucky floats in the darkness.

**********************************

Dinner is over, the leftovers wrapped up in the refrigerator for Bucky to take with him to work tomorrow. The dishes are dripping in the drying rack. Steve and Bucky are curled up together on the couch waiting for “I Love Lucy” to start.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Steve cries as he pushes away from Bucky and makes his way into their bedroom.

“Forgot what? Steve?! Forgot what?” Bucky calls after him.

Steve comes out of the bedroom holding a paper bag from their local Rexall drug store. His eyes are glittering, a huge smile splitting his face. “Look what I got today,” he says. He pulls out a small plastic contraption shaped like an “L.” Bucky blinks.

“Isn’t it exciting?!” Steve asks.

“Yeah, it’s swell. What exactly is it, though?”

“It’s my Medihaler! It’s medicine for my asthma, but it works so much better than those cigarettes they have me smoking. And it’s a lot less expensive than a nebulizer. So when I have a bad attack now, I can just take a puff from this and bam! No more breathing problems!”

Bucky’s throat starts to burn as he tries to hold back tears. He fails.

“Buck, hey, it’s okay. Hey.” Steve crawls into Bucky’s lap and cups Bucky’s face in his hands, wipes away Bucky’s tears with his thumbs. “This is a good thing, Buck.”

“I know. I know it is. I’m sorry, I just -- I’m just so relieved, Steve, God.” And he is. He feels ten pounds lighter knowing he won’t have to worry about whether each asthma attack is Steve’s last. Steve smiles and kisses his nose.

“Let’s just watch the show, okay?” he says as he climbs off Bucky and plops down next to him. He twines their fingers together and doesn’t let go.

********************************************

There’s a dark-haired man in a white coat with a wolfish smile. There’s a redheaded woman who likes to play with knives. There’s pain and blood and pain.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s handsome and tan. He has a strong accent and a stronger jaw. The man is a threat to Russian security. He needs to die. They fly Bucky to Dallas. There will be a motorcade. The man will be in an open car. That will be the right time.

Bucky scouts the motorcade route and chooses a grassy knoll. It’s the perfect shooting position and has a clear escape route. He goes back the night before the motorcade and hides a sniper rifle in some dense shrubbery nearby. The new day dawns gray and rainy but clears well before the motorcade begins. Bucky would make the shot anyway, but it’s always easier to shoot on a clear day.

He’s in position well before he spots the man’s car. He waits for the man to reach the proper position, and then he fires two shots. He hits. He sees a third shot hit another man in the car before he hears the gunfire. The car speeds up as another man runs after it, a woman in pink reaching for him. His target is slumped over as the car drives out of sight. There is screaming. People are panicking. Bucky disassembles the rifle and packs it back in its case and makes his escape.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s handsome and tan. The man is a threat to Russian security. He needs to die. They fly Bucky to Dallas. There will be a motorcade. The man will be in an open car.

Bucky scouts the motorcade route and chooses a grassy knoll. It’s the perfect shooting position and has a clear escape route. The day dawns gray and rainy but clears well before the motorcade begins. Bucky would make the shot anyway, but it’s always easier to shoot on a clear day.

He’s in position well before he spots the man’s car. He waits for the man to reach the proper position, and then he fires two shots. He hits. He sees a third shot hit another man in the car before he hears the gunfire. His target is slumped over as the car drives out of sight. Bucky disassembles the rifle and packs it back in its case and makes his escape.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s handsome and tan. The man is a threat to Russian security. He needs to die. They fly Bucky to Dallas.

Bucky scouts the motorcade route and chooses a grassy knoll. The day dawns gray and rainy but clears well before the motorcade begins. Bucky would make the shot anyway, but it’s always easier to shoot on a clear day.

He’s in position well before he spots the man’s car. He waits for the man to reach the proper position, and then he fires two shots. He hits. Bucky disassembles the rifle and packs it back in its case and makes his escape.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s handsome and tan. The man is a threat to Russian security. He needs to die. They fly Bucky to Dallas.

He waits for the man to reach the proper position, and then he fires two shots. He hits. Bucky disassembles the rifle and packs it back in its case and makes his escape.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s handsome and tan. The man is a threat to Russian security. He needs to die. They fly Bucky to Dallas.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s handsome and tan. He needs to die.

There’s a photo of a man. There’s a photo of a man. There’s a photo of a man.

He needs to die.

Bucky floats in the darkness.

**************************************

_ Let’s switch down there now where Eddie Barker of KRLD is on the air. _

They’ve been watching the news together for hours. Bucky was sent home from work when news filtered in that the President had been shot, and when he arrived home, Steve was already sitting in front of the television.  _ God, what a clusterfuck,  _ Bucky thinks.

_ Regarding the probable assassin, the sheriff’s officers have taken a young man into custody at the scene, a man 25 years old-- _

Hearing Walter Cronkite talk about the assassin makes Bucky’s stomach twist in an odd way. He tries to identify the feeling but finds he can’t.

“Who do you think it is, this guy they have in custody? Why do you think he did it?” Steve asks, mostly thinking out loud. He knows Bucky doesn’t have any more answers than he does, but it helps him to talk it out, so Bucky lets him.

“I have no idea, Stevie, but I know it’s the wrong guy.” Bucky feels a burst of adrenaline rush through his body as Steve goes rigid and looks at him.

“What did you say?” Steve asks.

“I -- I just…”

“Bucky, what do you mean? How do you  _ know _ it’s the wrong guy?”

“I don’t know, Steve! I don’t know what I mean! It just came out, okay?”

“How can you not --”

_ From Dallas, Texas, the flash, apparently official: President Kennedy died at 1:00 PM Central Standard Time, 2 o’clock Eastern Standard Time, some 38 minutes ago…” _

Steve starts sobbing, argument forgotten. Bucky pulls him into his arms and holds him tightly, runs his hands up and down Steve’s back, feeling every vertebra and rib. Steve’s crying harder than Bucky has ever seen him cry before. He can’t shake the feeling that somehow it’s all his fault.

**************************************

There’s a dark-haired man in a white coat with a wolfish smile. There’s a redheaded woman who likes to play with knives. There’s pain and blood and pain.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s tall and muscular. His hair is blond and his eyes are blue. He’s a pilot. He disobeyed orders. He defected. He needs to die. They fly Bucky to Canada. They take Bucky to the small airport the man uses to run a chartered-flight business. Bucky waits for cover of night and breaks into the airport. He places a small charge in the man’s airplane engine then finds cover in the nearby treeline and waits for morning.

It’s four hours after sunrise, and the man hasn’t come. It’s seven hours after sunrise, and the man hasn’t come. It’s two hours until sunset, and the man hasn’t come.

It’s five hours after sunrise when the man comes. He goes through routine checks of his airplane. He loads up luggage and two passengers. The airplane taxis down the runway and takes off. It’s 60 feet in the air when Bucky detonates the charge. The airplane hurtles to the ground and explodes.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s tall and muscular. His hair is blond and his eyes are blue. He disobeyed orders. He needs to die. They fly Bucky to Canada. They take Bucky to a small airport. Bucky waits for cover of night and breaks into the airport. He places a small charge in the man’s airplane engine then finds cover in the nearby treeline and waits for morning.

It’s four hours after sunrise, and the man hasn’t come. It’s two hours until sunset, and the man hasn’t come.

It’s five hours after sunrise when the man comes. He loads up luggage and two passengers. The airplane takes off. It’s 60 feet in the air when Bucky detonates the charge. The airplane hurtles to the ground and explodes.

There’s a photo of a man. His hair is blond and his eyes are blue. He disobeyed orders. He needs to die. They take Bucky to a small airport. He places a small charge in the man’s airplane engine.

It’s five hours after sunrise when the man comes. The airplane takes off. It’s 60 feet in the air when Bucky detonates the charge. The airplane hurtles to the ground and explodes.

There’s a photo of a man. He disobeyed orders. He needs to die. Bucky places a small charge in the man’s airplane engine. The airplane takes off. It’s 60 feet in the air when Bucky detonates the charge. The airplane hurtles to the ground and explodes.

There’s a photo of a man. He disobeyed orders. He needs to die.

There’s a photo of a man. There’s a photo of a man. There’s a photo of a man.

He needs to die.

Bucky floats in the darkness.

**********************************

There’s a photo of a man. He’s tall and muscular. He has blond hair and blue eyes. He’s a soldier, but he fights for the wrong side. He needs to die. Bucky needs to confirm the kill. They fly Bucky to a weapons facility in Austria. The man is there on a rescue mission. Bucky finds some high ground, sets up his sniper rifle, and waits for the man to show up.

He does. The man is wearing some sort of soft helmet. It doesn’t matter. It won’t affect his shot. Bucky lines up his shot and pulls the trigger. The man’s head snaps back. Bucky sees the telltale red mist through his scope. He waits to see if his shots draw anyone out of the building. They don’t. He waits a little longer before packing up his rifle and heading down to confirm his kill.

The man is lying on his back, blood pooling in the mud around his head. His eyes are open. He looks...familiar somehow. He shouldn’t, but he does. Bucky feels an odd tickling sensation in his brain, feels compelled to take off the man’s helmet. He shouldn’t. He’s already confirmed the kill. Taking off the helmet would be tampering with the body, and he doesn’t need to do that this mission.

He takes off the helmet. Bucky staggers as a wave of memories hits him, one after another after another. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. The man is Steve. His Steve. He  _ loves _ Steve. How could he forget that? He  _ loves _ Steve, and he killed him. He killed him! Bucky drops to his knees in the mud and retches. He crawls over to Steve and pulls his body into his lap. He sits in the cold mud with Steve’s cold body and rocks back and forth, back and forth.

How could they make him do this?! How could they? He’s  _ furious _ now, opening his mouth to scream and scream and scream. But he can’t. No sound comes out. He tries again. Nothing. He tries and tries and tries and tries and tries and tries and tries and tries and tries and tries and

He’s suddenly cold, so so cold, and there’s white mist around him and the mud is gone, but he tries to scream and he  _ can _ , he can, and he screams and screams and screams and screams. An alarm starts blaring, so Bucky screams louder.

“What’s going on?!?!” a man shouts.

“We don’t know, sir! He just started screaming.”

“Get him out of there!” a woman orders. “Now!!”

Bucky feels hands all over him, and he struggles against them, kicking and throwing punches. He feels his fist connect with a jaw, hears shouts of pain. He screams and screams. He’s surrounded now, overwhelmed by a sheer mass of bodies.

“Wipe him! Hurry!” the woman shouts.

They manhandle him into the chair. The halo descends. He screams. They shove a mouthguard into his mouth. He bites down and screams until the blackness takes him.

*****************************************

There’s a dark-haired man in a white coat with a wolfish smile. There’s a redheaded woman who likes to play with knives. There’s pain and blood and pain.

There’s a photo of a man. His hair and moustache are silver, his eyes hazel. He’s a scientist, an inventor. He’s developed something dangerous. He needs to die. It needs to look like an accident. Bucky needs to take his research. There can be no witnesses.

They fly Bucky to Long Island. He scouts out locations and settles on a secluded road. There’s a security camera that he’ll have to deal with, but it’s still the best option. Bucky steals a motorcycle and hides it in the underbrush. An informant tells him the man will be travelling the road later that evening, so Bucky gets into position and waits for darkness.

The car drives by him. He pulls the motorcycle out of the woods and follows the car. He drives alongside the car and causes it to crash into a tree. The car starts burning. The man manages to crawl out onto the ground. He’s asking for help for his wife. Bucky will deal with her next. He goes to the man and pulls him up by the hair. The man seems to recognize him, says “Sergeant Barnes?” Bucky uses his metal arm to punch him in the face once, twice, cracking his skull. He hears a woman calling a name. He puts the body back in the car, leaning it against the steering wheel. He goes around the car and reaches inside to strangle the woman. When she’s dead, he goes to the trunk and takes the briefcase with the research. He shoots out the security camera and leaves the scene.

There’s a photo of a man. His hair and moustache are silver, his eyes hazel. He’s a scientist. He’s developed something dangerous. He needs to die. There can be no witnesses.

They fly Bucky to Long Island. He scouts out locations and settles on a secluded road. Bucky steals a motorcycle and hides it in the underbrush. An informant tells him the man will be travelling the road later that evening, so Bucky gets into position and waits for darkness.

The car drives by him. He drives alongside the car and causes it to crash into a tree. The man manages to crawl out onto the ground. He’s asking for help for his wife. He goes to the man and pulls him up by the hair. Bucky uses his metal arm to punch him in the face once, twice, cracking his skull. He puts the body back in the car, leaning it against the steering wheel. He goes around the car and reaches inside to strangle the woman. When she’s dead, he goes to the trunk and takes the briefcase with the research. He shoots out the security camera and leaves the scene.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s a scientist. He’s developed something dangerous. He needs to die.

They fly Bucky to Long Island. He scouts out locations and settles on a secluded road. An informant tells him the man will be travelling the road later that evening, so Bucky gets into position and waits for darkness.

The car drives by him. He drives a motorcycle alongside the car and causes it to crash into a tree. The man manages to crawl out onto the ground. Bucky uses his metal arm to punch him in the face once, twice, cracking his skull.. He goes around the car and reaches inside to strangle a woman. He shoots out the security camera and leaves the scene.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s a scientist. He’s developed something dangerous. He needs to die.

They fly Bucky to Long Island. He scouts out locations and settles on a secluded road. The car drives by him. He drives a motorcycle alongside the car and causes it to crash into a tree. The man manages to crawl out of the car. Bucky uses his metal arm to punch him in the face once, twice, cracking his skull.

There’s a photo of a man. He needs to die. Bucky drives a motorcycle alongside a car and causes it to crash into a tree. The man manages to crawl out of the car. Bucky uses his metal arm to punch him in the face once, twice, cracking his skull.

There’s a photo of a man. There’s a photo of a man. There’s a photo of a man.

He needs to die.

Bucky floats in the darkness.

*******************************

They get mobbed after their mission, just like always. Steve is a celebrity now, and the men want to see him, want a chance to be near him. It’s good for morale, and Steve says he doesn’t mind. Bucky hangs back. He’s a celebrity, too; not quite like Steve but close enough. One of the perks of being Captain America’s best friend, he supposes. He watches the crowd surround Steve and whisk him away. Steve doesn’t look back.

Bucky waits for Steve. He waits for hours. Steve doesn’t come back. Bucky knew this day would come, the day Steve didn’t come back for him. It’s right, he thinks. It’s proper. The war has changed Bucky. He’s tainted now, unworthy of Steve’s golden perfection. He doesn’t deserve Steve, and now that he’s healthy and strong, he doesn’t need Bucky anymore, either.

This is good. It is. It is. It  _ is. _

*******************************

There’s a gray-haired man in a white coat with a wolfish smile. There’s a blonde woman who likes to play with knives. There’s pain and blood and pain.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s a nuclear scientist. He’s trying to escape Iran with Russian nuclear intel. He needs to die.

He catches up with the scientist in Odessa. He’s being escorted by a redheaded woman. The woman has been well-trained. She’s a problem, but not insurmountable. Bucky shoots out the tires of their car, sending the car over a cliff. He goes down to confirm his kill. The woman has kept both of them from falling over the cliff somehow. She’s standing in front of the scientist, trying to protect him. Bucky shoots through her stomach, killing the scientist. The woman is not his mission, so he leaves her to bleed in the gravel.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s trying to escape Iran with Russian nuclear intel. He needs to die.

He catches up with the scientist in Odessa. He’s being escorted by a redheaded woman. The woman has been well-trained. Bucky shoots out the tires of their car, sending the car over a cliff. The woman has kept both of them from falling over the cliff somehow. She’s standing in front of the scientist, trying to protect him. Bucky shoots through her stomach, killing the scientist.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s trying to escape Iran with Russian nuclear intel. He needs to die.

The scientist is being escorted by a redheaded woman. Bucky shoots out the tires of their car, sending the car over a cliff. The woman has kept both of them from falling over the cliff somehow. She’s standing in front of the scientist, trying to protect him. Bucky shoots through her stomach, killing the scientist.

There’s a photo of a man. He needs to die.

The man is being escorted by a redheaded woman. Bucky shoots out the tires of their car. The woman is standing in front of the man, trying to protect him. Bucky shoots through her stomach, killing the man.

There’s a photo of a man. There’s a photo of a man. There’s a photo of a man.

He needs to die.

Bucky floats in the darkness.

********************************

There’s a photo of a man. He has blond hair and blue eyes. He’s tall and muscular. He’s a soldier.

He’s Steve.

Bucky keeps his expression neutral as they continue the briefing, but his mind is racing. He can’t kill Steve. He just can’t. But if he doesn’t kill Steve, he can’t come back to HYDRA. And he can’t run, either. They’ll hunt him down until they kill him. That leaves only one option.

They’ve been fighting for what feels like forever. His face is a mess, nose broken, lip split. Three of his ribs are broken, a handful more cracked. It’s getting hard to breathe under his mask, but he won’t take it off. Steve can’t know who he is.

Bucky’s tired. He’s so tired. He just wants this to be over. He’s fought Steve long enough for HYDRA not to be suspicious when Steve wins, he thinks. He lets himself drink in the sight of Steve one more time before he starts looking for openings, trying to see if he can throw the fight without Steve knowing. There. Steve brings his shield down and then darkness.

******************************

There’s a gray-haired man in a white coat with a wolfish smile. There’s a blonde woman who likes to play with knives. There’s pain and blood and pain.

There’s a photo of a woman. She has black hair and dark skin. She’s a journalist, and she’s been digging in the wrong place. She needs to die. Bucky needs to send a message.

They fly Bucky to New York. The woman works in a giant building with a parking garage underneath. Bucky settles on a car bomb. That will send a message. He spends a few hours in a safe house building a bomb. He’s done with it by early afternoon. Bucky goes to the garage and finds the woman’s car. He waits until no one is around before breaking into her car and setting the bomb in place. He wires it for detonation when the woman tries to start her car. He goes to a cafe across the street and takes a window seat, tries to blend in. He’s polite and unassuming, orders coffee and a muffin in a Brooklyn accent he didn’t know he had. He sits and watches people walking by on the street.

He hears a muffled explosion. Emergency vehicles start arriving by the score. Bucky pretends to be alarmed like the rest of the cafe patrons. He slips away in the confusion.

There’s a photo of a woman. She has black hair and dark skin. She’s a journalist, and she’s been digging in the wrong place. She needs to die. Bucky needs to send a message.

They fly Bucky to New York. The woman works in a giant building with a parking garage underneath. Bucky settles on a car bomb. He spends a few hours in a safe house building a bomb. Bucky goes to the garage and finds the woman’s car. He wires the bomb for detonation when the woman tries to start her car. He goes to a cafe across the street and takes a window seat, tries to blend in.

He hears a muffled explosion. Emergency vehicles start arriving by the score. Bucky pretends to be alarmed like the rest of the cafe patrons. He slips away in the confusion.

There’s a photo of a woman. She has black hair and dark skin. She needs to die. Bucky needs to send a message.

They fly Bucky to New York. The woman works in a giant building with a parking garage underneath. Bucky spends a few hours in a safe house building a car bomb. Bucky goes to the garage and finds the woman’s car. He goes to a cafe across the street and takes a window seat, tries to blend in. He hears a muffled explosion. He slips away in the confusion.

There’s a photo of a woman. She needs to die. Bucky needs to send a message.

They fly Bucky to New York. He spends a few hours in a safe house building a car bomb. Bucky goes to the garage and finds the woman’s car. He hears a dull explosion. He slips away in the confusion.

There’s a photo of a woman. There’s a photo of a woman. There’s a photo of a woman.

She needs to die.

Bucky floats in the darkness.

*************************************

The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows of tall trees onto the grasses and wildflowers in the meadow. Bucky sets the last split rail into place with a grunt, then stops to take a breath. The fence is far from finished, but he made good progress today. Steve will be proud. He reaches down to grab the shirt he discarded hours ago when the sun was high in the sky, uses it to wipe away the sweat and dirt from his face and torso. He’s a mess and feels it. He needs a shower and a cold, cold beer. Maybe not in that order, though.

He tucks his shirt into his back pocket and picks up his tools and starts walking back to the shed to stow them away. He still gets anxious when things aren’t in their proper place. Steve’s more of a natural slob, but he’s trying to do better.

Tools cleaned and put away, Bucky starts walking up to the house. It’s small and shabby, but there’s only the two of them, and Bucky doesn’t mind. He likes working with his hands to fix it, to make it theirs.

There’s a little attic under the eaves that Steve turned into a sort of hideaway for Bucky. He goes there when he’s having a bad day, curls up in a nest of blankets and pillows. Steve painted the ceiling a deep, deep blue, painted stars into the shape of constellations. It makes the room seem bigger, helps Bucky feel less caged. He surprised Bucky with it one day after he’d come in from breaking the plot for a vegetable garden, and Bucky had pushed him down and fucked him silly right there on the floor.

He pulls off his dirty work boots on the back porch before heading into the house. The smell of roasting meat and vegetables hits him as soon as he walks in the door, and it actually smells good for once. Steve is such a shit cook, but Bucky knows that Steve likes to take care of Bucky, thinks he owes Bucky some kind of debt from when they were growing up. It’s horseshit, of course, but Bucky lets him because it makes him happy. Even if that means barely palatable dinners most nights.

Bucky grabs a beer from the refrigerator and goes in search of Steve. He finds him in the front room, the one with the big windows across one wall. Steve hasn’t noticed Bucky yet, so he stops and leans against the doorway and watches.

Steve is painting an abstract mural on the room’s one windowless wall, a riot of shapes and colors that makes no sense to Bucky but is still fascinating to look at. He’s humming something, out of tune as always. He’s barefoot, paint speckling his bare arms and his clothes. The setting sun is flooding the room with light, and Steve is beautiful and golden, golden. Bucky wants suddenly,  _ desperately _ , to be weighed down by Steve, wants to be anchored to this place by the solid weight of his golden Steve. He wants to live here forever and ever in their shabby little house surrounded by acres and acres of land, far away from prying eyes and evil in the night.

And he can. He can. Steve bought a house and some land, asked him to stay. He  _ can. _ A laugh bubbles out of his chest, and he startles. He hasn’t laughed in...well, ages. Years, maybe. Steve’s head snaps up at the sound, mouth gaping in confusion. Bucky laughs again. And again. And again and again and he can’t stop himself, and he doesn’t want to, because it feels so good. He’s  _ happy _ , and he’s in love, God, he’s in love, and he can have this.

Steve’s laughing now, too, as he makes his way to Bucky. He brushes the hair off of Steve’s forehead, uses his thumb to wipe away some paint on Steve’s cheek as he cups his face, and kisses him. He kisses and kisses Steve, and this, this is everything. It’s  _ everything. _

It’s everything.

  
  
  



	3. Returning

There’s a photo of a man. He’s bald and tall. His skin and goatee are dark, and he has an eye patch. He’s a threat of the highest order. He needs to die. He escapes from Bucky once. Once.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s tall and broad. His eyes are blue and his hair is dark blond. He’s a threat of the highest order. He needs to die. They drive Bucky to a highway. The man is in a car with two other people, who end up being well-trained. The redheaded woman is a particular problem. Bucky shoots her in the shoulder. Problem solved.

He fights the blond man for a long time. The man is good; strong and quick, and he has this indestructible shield he uses for both defense and offense. Bucky’s never fought anyone like him. He’s almost enjoying himself until the man flips him over, causing the mask to fall away from his face. People who see his face never live to tell about it.

He looks back, coldly furious, and the man is standing there, mouth open in disbelief. “Bucky?” he says.  _ Who the hell is Bucky? _

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

He raises his gun but is knocked down by a man with wings, which...is unusual. His mission is still standing in the middle of the road when he gets to his feet, and he...feels something. There’s an echo of a memory connected to the man in the street pinging around his head, making it hard to focus. It’s not possible. He can’t know this man. Can he?

It doesn’t matter. He’s his mission. He raises his gun again as an explosive round hurtles toward him. He uses the resulting explosion to disappear as sirens sound in the distance.

They’re working on his arm, trying to fix the damage the redheaded woman caused with her electrical charge when he...he remembers; the fall, the doctor, his arm. When he surfaces from the memory, he throws the nearest technician across the room. That earns Bucky a visit from the man on high.

Bucky asks about the man on the bridge. He knew him. He knew him. They say he met him on an earlier assignment, but he knows that’s not true.  _ He knew him. _ This man, he’s from before. He’s important. Bucky wants to take this memory and hold it close to his heart and never let it go. Why can’t they see how  _ important _ this is?

“But I knew him,” he says wistfully.

They wipe him and steal the memory anyway.

There’s a photo of a man. He’s tall and broad. His eyes are blue and his hair is dark blond. He’s a threat of the highest order. He needs to die. Bucky finds him on a helicarrier. They fight. They fight for a long, long time. He winds up trapped under a metal beam, cradling a broken arm. The man should leave him there to die. It’s what Bucky would do. Instead he lifts the beam away.

“You know me,” he says.

“No, I don’t!”

They’re both injured and exhausted, their punches reckless..

“Bucky,” the man says breathlessly. “You’ve known me your whole life.”

Bucky roars as he throws another punch.

“Your name is James...Buchanan Barnes.”

“Shut up!!!!”

The man takes off his helmet. He’s swaying on his feet. “I’m not gonna fight you.” He lets his shield slip off his arm. It falls through a broken windowpane and plummets to the river below.

“You’re my friend,” he says, like it’s that simple.

Bucky tackles him. “You’re my mission.” He lets his metal fist fly, feels bones crunching beneath him. He hesitates.

“Then finish it,” the man croaks. “‘Cause I’m with you till the end of the line.”

Bucky freezes. He feels numb. He knows that phrase. How does he know that phrase? A beam falls through the windows they’re on before he can figure it out, sending the man beneath him hurtling down, down. Bucky watches him fall. He makes a choice. He pulls the man from the water and drags him onto the river bank, confirms that he’s breathing, and walks away into the underbrush.

He finds an empty house and breaks in. He takes some clothes, bundles his wet tactical gear up and sticks it in a backpack he finds in the hall closet. He spies a laptop on a table and opens it. It’s not password protected. Stupid. He opens a browser and searches “soldier with shield.” It’s him. His mission. “Captain America,” he reads. He types that into the search bar next. There are too many results to go through now, but one link points him to an exhibit at the Smithsonian museum. Maybe he can find some answers there. Bucky memorizes the address and leaves the house.

He makes his way to the Smithsonian. There’s metal detectors, so Bucky activates his arm’s countermeasure as he goes through. He finds the exhibit and starts walking around it, freezing halfway in. There’s a giant picture of him. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, it says. Killed in action with the Howling Commandoes in 1945. He’s a goddamn war hero. Or, well, he was. Now he’s something else entirely.

Bucky feels shaky after leaving the Smithsonian. It was his face, his life up there, big and bold for everyone to see. Anyone walking out of that exhibit knows more about him than he knows about himself. He’s not that person anymore, not the hero people come here to revere. He doesn’t know who he is,  _ what _ he is, but he knows he’s not that.

With no mission, no one telling him what to do, Bucky feels unmoored. He figures he has two choices: make his own anchor or let himself drift. He spends a day walking around DC and decides to let himself drift for a while. He finds the HYDRA safe house in town and steals all the cash he can.

He spends the night huddled in an alley. No one pays him any attention. He leaves the city the next day. DC is too frenetic. It makes his skin crawl. His legs feel restless and jittery like they want to be on the move somewhere, anywhere. He tries Chicago. Toronto. London. None of them feel right; they’re too foreign somehow. He makes his way east. Brussels. Frankfurt. Munich. Zagreb. Belgrade.

Bucharest feels right. It’s far enough from Russia to feel safe, and it has just enough former Communist country left to make it feel familiar. Bucky finds the nicest part of the city and steals some money and jewelry, enough to get him settled in to stay. He finds a shitty little apartment that rents by the month and comes with a few furnishings. He doesn't need much. Hell, almost anything is better than being frozen solid in a narrow tube for years at a time.

Bucky spends some time walking around, getting used to the neighborhood. There's a library six blocks from his building. He likes going there and letting the smell of the books sit in his nostrils. It chases away the iron tang of blood he can't seem to lose, if only for a little while.

The librarian makes small talk with him sometimes, teases him about his country accent. He thinks HYDRA would be pissed to know they taught him the wrong Romanian accent, and the thought makes him smile a bit. The librarian tells Bucky he looks tired one day. Bucky nods politely, says he doesn't sleep too well most nights. She tells Bucky about her dream journals, how writing things down helps. He thanks her and goes back to his reading.

The idea sticks. Now that he's been in one place for a few weeks, he's starting to remember things. He thinks maybe writing them down will help him sort through the jumble in his head. He goes to the store and buys three notebooks and some pens.

There's a fruit stand a couple blocks from his apartment. The man who owns is it cheerful without being overbearing. He always has a smile for Bucky but doesn't ask questions. Bucky’s been working his way through the different fruits. He likes the plums the best, especially just before they're ripe, when the skin is a little sour and the flesh not cloyingly sweet. He likes the dichotomy, likes that it can be two opposing things and still be enjoyable. He thinks comparing himself to a piece of fruit is a little silly, really, but he writes it down in his journal anyway. Who knows, maybe it will help one day.

Three months in, the librarian notices him reading a book in Russian. She tells Bucky she knows a man who’s looking for some help with a translation and can pay for his time. She gives Bucky his card. He thinks earning some money would be a nice change from stealing, so he uses the library’s computer to set up an email account and emails the man. An hour later, he's got a pdf of a manuscript and a job.

He’s still not sleeping much, so he works long hours, manages to finish the translations way ahead of schedule. The man is impressed and asks if Bucky wants more work. He does. Suddenly, he's a translator.

The longer he's out of cryo the more he remembers. Most of it is terrible, and he hates himself for what he's done. All those people, dead because of him. His hand shakes as he writes it all down in his notebook. He doesn't want to forget this. He doesn't deserve to forget this.

Sometimes what he remembers isn't so bad, though. Sometimes he remembers things like his sister’s hair ribbons flying as he chases her around their apartment. He remembers her breathless laughter when he'd catch her and tickle her ribs. He remembers snowball fights with Steve and taking him to the pictures when he was flush.

He remembers Steve. He misses him, aches for him. He wants nothing more than to bury his face in Steve’s neck and breathe him in while Steve holds him tight. They weren't like that before, though, Bucky knows. His remembered dreams of Steve had been so vivid that it was hard to tell at first if they had really happened or not. But they hadn't. They hadn't.

And now...well. After everything that's happened, everything he's done, Steve will never want him. He's sure of that. He doesn't deserve Steve anyway, he never has. Steve was always his impossible dream.

Months pass and Bucky settles into a routine. He works, he writes, he eats, he tries to sleep. He fills his notebooks and buys new ones. He keeps them in his emergency backpack along with a bottle of water, a few energy bars, some money, and a handful of light weapons. He patrols his neighborhood a few times a week looking for anomalies. No one has come looking for him so far. It makes him feel both relieved and anxious. He knows it's just a matter of time before someone comes. Some days he wishes they would just get it over with already.

He thinks about leaving, about picking up and starting over again, but the thought makes his stomach turn. This place is the first thing that's been his in so long that he's loathe to leave it. It's a shitty apartment in a shitty part of town, but it's  _ his _ . He gets to make choices here. Maybe they're shitty choices, too, to go with his shitty apartment, but they're still choices. They're still his to make. He thinks that's worth something nowadays.

He uses the library's computer every so often to check up on Steve. He knows about the fall of SHIELD and HYDRA’s infiltration and about the file dump. He knows there are files and videos about him and his training. He stays well away from those. He doesn't want to watch himself being tortured. It was bad enough living through it.

He almost goes to help when Steve and the Avengers are in Sokovia. It's not that far from Bucharest, really, and he feels an urge to go watch Steve’s six while he's fighting. He makes travel plans and tries to figure out how to get himself a new sniper rifle before he thinks better of the idea. Even if he stays hidden and snipes from a distance, people will start asking questions. They’ll come looking for him. He’s not ready for that yet. Maybe he never will be,

The nightmares started a few months after settling in Bucharest. He wakes gasping or screaming, the feel of blood on his hands, the smell thick in his nose. He dreams about hurting and killing people. He dreams about people hurting him. He doesn’t dream about Steve anymore.

The blue notebook is Bucky’s favorite. It’s full of all his dreams of Steve. He keeps that one under his mattress and pulls it out when he’s feeling particularly sad, runs his finger reverently down the cover. He’s careful with the pages, careful careful. He touches Steve’s name on the paper, then kisses his fingertip. He closes his eyes and makes a wish.

Plums are back in season, which makes Bucky happy. The owner of the fruit stand laughs as Bucky approaches, hands him a bag, says “plums again?” Bucky smiles and nods. When he looks up, the man in the newsstand across the street is staring at him. No one ever stares at him like that. Something must be wrong. Bucky smiles apologetically at the fruit stand owner as he hurries away and disappears from the street. Bucharest isn’t safe anymore. It’s time to leave.

When he gets home, there’s a man in his apartment, his back facing Bucky. He’s looking at some of Bucky’s notebooks. It’s Steve.  _ Steve. _ Bucky’s eyes go wide as he stills. His heart is beating so fast it might beat out of his chest. He holds his breath. Steve turns around when he realizes Bucky is there.

“Do you know me?”

“You’re Steve.”  _ I love you.  _ “I read about you at the museum.”

“I know you’re nervous. And you have every reason to be. But you’re lying.”

“I wasn’t in Vienna. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Well, the people who think you did are coming here now. And they’re not planning on taking you alive.”

Bucky nods. He doesn’t deserve anything less. “That’s smart. Good strategy.”

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck.”

“It always ends in a fight.”  _ I’m so  _ tired  _ of fighting. _

“You pulled me from the river. Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do!”

_ Because I love you. I had forgotten, but I love you, I love you, I love you. _

Men storm the apartment, and Steve fights them. Bucky fights them because he knows Steve wants him to. He’s captured in the end anyway, like he knew he would be. He lets them bind him and put him in a strange cube. Whatever happens now will happen, so there’s no use resisting. And he’s just so  _ tired. _

The psychiatrist they send in to talk to him is holding an old book. “Longing,” he says, and Bucky starts to panic.  _ No. No! Not again. Not ever again. _ The bindings break easily enough, but the cube’s glass is strong. Bucky’s metal arm is stronger, but it’s too late. “Freight car,” the man says before Bucky can silence him.

There’s a splitting pain in his head when he comes to. His metal arm is trapped and he can’t pull it free. He should have known this would happen. He should have seen it coming and done everyone a favor and just... But then Steve’s there, asking him questions and giving him another chance. Steve leads, so Bucky follows. It almost feels like old times.

The two of them end up alone on a plane as it speeds to Siberia. Steve raised his eyebrows when Bucky claimed the seat behind him instead of the co-pilot’s seat, but he hadn’t said anything. Bucky was grateful for that. He couldn’t bring himself to look Steve in the eyes knowing how much he and his friends had sacrificed to keep him safe. It was too much. He didn’t know how he’d ever earn what they’d done for him. So he sat behind Steve, silent and brooding for most of the flight until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“What’s gonna happen to your friends?”

“Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it.”

Bucky isn’t reassured at all by that. He finally voices what he’s been thinking for a while now. “I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve.”  _ I know I’m not. _

“What you did all those years...it wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice.”

Bucky could weep if he let himself. Leave it to Steve to go straight to the smoldering core of the matter like he can absolve Bucky of all his sins by strength of will alone.

“I know.” And he does, he  _ does _ know. In his heart of hearts, he knows he didn’t have a choice. He knows he was just the gun and HYDRA fired it. “But I did it.” It doesn’t matter that he didn’t have a choice. He’ll never stop feeling like it was all his fault, he’ll never be rid of the crushing guilt and the shame, the constant wondering if he’d just been stronger, if he’d done something, _ anything _ , differently, maybe HYDRA wouldn’t have broken him. Maybe all those people wouldn’t be dead.

Bucky watches Steve as he flies. Steve’s quiet the rest of the flight. Bucky doesn’t blame him. There’s not really much you can say to make someone feel better about murder. He knows he shouldn’t, but he compares himself to Steve. He’s just so  _ good. _ He probably wouldn’t have let himself be broken and turned into a mindless killer. Bucky closes his eyes and tries to focus on the mission ahead, tries to swallow down the tears thickening his throat and threatening to spill onto his cheeks. Steve thinks he’s worth it. That has to be enough.

They’re fighting again, always fighting. This time it’s one of Steve’s teammates, the one whose parents he killed. He doesn’t blame the guy, not really. But he tried to hurt Steve, and that he will not fucking abide. It feels good to fight together like this, their movements coordinated in a macabre dance. They’re better together. They always were.

He doesn’t realize his arm’s gone at first. It aches in a strange way, all dulled nerve endings and mild electrical shocks. But with the weight of the metal gone, he’s unbalanced and dazed. The pain is starting to ramp up now, and it’s hard to focus. His stomach is churning, the room is spinning, and he can’t seem to keep his feet under him. His mouth starts watering and he thinks he might throw up. He knows Steve is still fighting. All he can do now is wait and hope Steve wins.

He does. Bucky’s vertical suddenly, which triggers another round of nausea. Steve wraps his arm around Bucky as they hobble their way out of the building. He’s warm and solid by his side, and Bucky feels a jagged edge slot itself back into place in his chest. He’s so unused to touch that isn’t meant to hurt or kill that he almost isn’t sure how to handle this. In the end he leans into Steve and lets him take most of his weight. Steve’s the strongest man he knows. He can bear it.

Steve tenses when they get outside, and when Bucky looks up the cat man is standing a little ways away.

“Please,” he says, words carried to them on the cold wind. “I was wrong about you.” He nods his head toward Bucky. “I thought you killed my father, and I wanted vengeance. But I know now that it wasn’t your doing. I know now the destructive cost of my rage. I want to make amends. Please let me make amends.”

Bucky relaxes in Steve’s grip. Whatever this man is, Bucky can tell he’s not a liar.

“How?” Steve asks, tentative.

“Your friend is still a wanted man. You yourself are a wanted man. You need sanctuary. I can provide that if you come with me to Wakanda.”

“What about the rest of my team?”

“They are welcome, as well, should they find themselves at liberty to join us.”

Steve nods and the other man smiles and makes his way to them. He shakes Steve’s hand and says something in a language Bucky doesn’t understand. Then he moves to Bucky’s mangled side and carefully places his hands on Bucky’s torso. The three of them make their way to the plane and head for Wakanda.

Bucky drifts in and out of consciousness as they fly. He thinks they stop to refuel once or twice but he can’t be sure. He can hear Steve talking with the man, T’Challa, in low voices. They look back at him every so often, brows furrowed. Steve looks concerned. Bucky tries to tell him he’s fine but the words never make it past his lips.

When he wakes for good, he’s in a large building full of white and glass. He’s in white clothes, which feels wrong somehow. He’d gotten used to the black. His arm stump has been tidied up and capped with a sort of neoprene sleeve. The pain has dulled to a low ache, and the nausea is gone, blessedly. A nurse comes in to check on him and goes to fetch a doctor when he sees Bucky is awake.

“It is good to see you awake, Mr. Barnes. My name is Lesedi, and I’m leading the team in charge of caring for you.” She smiles at him and comes to stand by the side of the bed. “How are you feeling? Any pain?”

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Bucky croaks, his throat dry.

“That’s not what I asked, Mr. Barnes.” She smiles again. “I know you’ve been trained to ignore pain, but that will only be detrimental to your recovery now. So please, can you tell me if you are in pain?”

“Just...just a little. Like an ache, that’s all.”

Lesedi smiles again. “Thank you. I’ll see what we can do about that. Now, your friend is rather impatient to see you, but I’m sure you have some questions for me first. Please ask whatever you wish and I will answer to the best of my ability.”

There are a million questions on the tip of his tongue but the most pressing one is, “there are words, trigger words, that will turn me into the asset again. They’re programmed into my head somehow. Are they gone?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes, but they are not. We are on the forefront of many medical fields, including neurological research, but we have not as yet discovered a way to remove their effectiveness. I’m sure that we will, given time, however.”

Bucky closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Mr. Barnes? Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Bucky keeps his eyes closed. “No, thank you. I think I’d like to be alone right now.”

“All right. Please do not hesitate to ask if there’s anything you need. I’ll check in on you again in a few hours.”

He waits until he hears her shut the door behind her before opening his eyes. He feels sick. He’d tried so hard to stop being the asset, to leave that life behind him, and look where it got him. Some random man with a grudge finds an old book, and suddenly he can’t control his own body. He can’t let that happen again. He just  _ can’t. _

He thinks about his options until the doctor comes in to check on him again. When he asks, she says yes, they do have cryo facilities. She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something but thinks better of it and offers a small smile instead before turning around and leaving the room. Bucky appreciates that.

Cryo won’t be so bad, really. Better than the alternative.. Or, well, he knows Steve would be devastated if he hurt himself, so it’s his only option if he wants to keep everyone safe from him, Steve included. He knows Steve won’t like it, but he thinks Steve will respect his choice, maybe try to talk him out of it before stoically nodding his acceptance.

He asks for Doctor Lesedi and tells her he wants to go back into cryo until they can figure out a way to extract the trigger phrases from his head. She asks him if he’s sure. He is. She tells him she will make preparations and that they will most likely be ready for him the following morning. She asks if he’d like her to send Steve in so they can talk. Damn but she’s perceptive. Bucky says yes and thanks her.

Steve looks almost happy when he walks into Bucky’s room, and it makes Bucky’s heart soar. He lets Steve talk a bit, answers his questions. Their conversation lulls. Bucky’s stalling, and he’s nervous. Steve notices.

“Buck, is everything all right?”

Bucky takes a deep breath. He can do this. He can present his case to Steve in a thoughtful, eloquent manner. He can.

“I want to go back into cryo.”  _ Shit! _

Steve stills. He looks...well, he looks devastated before he quickly recovers and steels his expression.

“Oh.”

“Steve, we don’t know who else has access to my trigger words. I can’t let myself hurt anyone again, I just can’t. I could have killed someone. I could have killed…”  _ You,  _ he wants to say.  _ You’re everything, and I could have killed you. _

Steve’s quiet for a long time. Bucky doesn’t want to break the thick silence, but he needs Steve to accept this.

“Steve?” he prompts.

“Does it hurt?” Steve whispers. “Going into cryo. Does it hurt?” Steve looks up at him with pleading eyes, and Bucky knows,  _ knows _ , he’s thinking about the ice.

“Only for a moment. Then it’s just...nothing”

Steve nods and sharply releases a breath. “Okay.” He seems resigned. “If that’s what you want, then that’s what you’ll do. I get it. I do.”

“Thank you. And hey, it’s only until they find a cure. Maybe that won’t take too long.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Steve smiles wistfully. “Hey, it’s getting late. I should let you rest. I’ll be back in the morning, okay?”

“Sure, Steve. I’ll see you then.”

Steve stands up and reaches his hand out like he’s going to touch Bucky’s arm before he thinks better of it and turns toward the door, walking out instead. Bucky watches him go with a heavy heart. He knows Steve doesn’t really want him to go back into cryo. He knows he’s hurting him. But he’s not strong enough to be around Steve and not be with him, not anymore. He can’t take it. He wants Steve so badly, so desperately, but he can’t have him.

He can in cryo. He can in his dreams. If that’s the only way he’ll ever have Steve, he’ll stay frozen forever.

  
  
  
  



	4. Epilogue

Steve waits until he’s back in his living quarters before letting his legs buckle. He sits on the ground and fails to fight back tears. Steve knows how important it is to let Bucky make his own decisions, especially regarding his own body, he  _ knows, _ but...but. He’s only just gotten him back. He wants to be selfish and go back and beg Bucky not to do it, not to go into cryo again. He wants to pull him into his arms and hold him close and never let him go, not ever. Bucky’s been radiating a “do not touch” vibe the whole time they’ve been back together, so Steve knows he wouldn’t want that, but God,  _ he  _ does. He sits on the ground and imagines himself being selfish, just this once. 

The room is white and sterile. Bucky’s clad in white, too, and he’s so beautiful. “I can’t trust my own mind,” Bucky says, and he sounds so tired. Tired and resigned. Steve wants to say something reassuring, but the weight of his own desires silence his tongue.

“So until they can get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under’s the best thing. For everybody.”

_ Not for me!! _ Steve wants to scream.  _ The best thing for me is you by my side!  _ He nods his head and looks at the floor instead.

He watches Bucky step into the cryo tube, watches it slide closed. The cold air hisses as it fills the chamber, and then it's done. He's gone. Again.

Steve makes his way out of the cryo room and lets his feet take him where they may while his mind wanders. He ends up on the other side of the building looking at lush jungle through a wall of windows. T’Challa is light on his feet, but Steve hears him approaching anyway. He’s perceptive, maybe too perceptive, and Steve knows his face is easy to read, so he continues staring out the window as he speaks.

“Thank you for this.”

“Your friend and my father...they were both victims. If I can help one of them find peace...” T’Challa trails off, lost in thought. Steve likes how he lets his emotions bleed into his voice. It's comforting.

“You know if they find out he's here they'll come for him.”

“Let them try,” T’Challa says, voice solid as steel. Steve believes him.

They stand in silence for a while until a man comes over and hands T’Challa a message. He thanks the man before reading it, smiling softly as he looks up at Steve.

“We were able to recover some of Sergeant Barnes’ belongings. They await you in your rooms.”

Steve’s face lights up before he smooths his expression back to neutral. “Thank you. That’s...thank you.” T’Challa smiles at him again.

They both turn back toward the window, but Steve’s mind is racing. He wants to run back to his quarters and see what they found, but he doesn't want appear too eager. Having something of Bucky’s while he's in cryo will help ease the aching loneliness.

T’Challa sees Steve fidgeting out of the corner of his eye and fights down another smile. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it. He's clearly trying to keep his feelings to himself, but he's so painfully obvious, the poor guy. T’Challa decides to take pity on him.

“Well, thank you for your company, Captain, but I have duties to attend to. Perhaps I will see you later.”

“Yeah, sure. Yes. Sounds good. Have a nice afternoon.”

Steve turns and practically runs back to his quarters leaving an amused T’Challa in his wake. When he opens his door, there's a cardboard box sitting on his dining table. He tears it open. Inside are a few knives and some random bullets. There's a garrote made of piano wire, and Steve feels a little sick looking at it. There are some loose papers and a worn copy of  _ The Count of Monte Cristo  _ in French. Steve thumbs through it, running his fingertip over the notes Bucky made in the margins. He sets it aside carefully and vows to return to it later.

He pulls three notebooks out of the bottom of the box. He opens one, shutting it quickly when he recognizes Bucky’s handwriting. That feels private somehow, and Steve doesn't want to invade Bucky’s privacy, especially when he's not able to give his consent. Steve leaves everything on the table and decides to take a shower.

The notebooks sit there taunting him while he watches a post-shower movie. They're taunting him while he cooks and eats dinner. They're taunting him as he gets ready for bed. They're taunting him as he tosses and turns and can't seem to get comfortable. They're smug when he finally admits defeat and gets up in the middle of the night.

Steve opens the first one. Inside it says “Things That Happened” in bold letters. He closes it again, gets up, walks around the room. He shouldn't be doing this. Right? These are Bucky’s journals. He shouldn't read them.

On the other hand, they weren't locked up or hidden or written in code. If Bucky really didn't want anyone to see them, he would have taken countermeasures. Plus, what if the key to erasing the trigger words is in these journals just sitting there begging to be read? It would be negligent not to take a look, just in case.

Steve opens the first notebook again and starts reading. The pages are full of snippets of information, some paragraphs long, but mostly they’re short sentences.

_“Steve used to wear newspapers in his shoes.”_

_“I had a sister named Rebecca.”_

_“I fell off a train once. That’s why I don’t like them now.”_

_“Steve loves pickles but doesn’t like cucumbers. Which is the dumbest goddamn thing because they’re basically the same except one is seasoned.”_

_“Anytime I see a man wearing a stupid hat I think of Dum Dum.”_

_“I fell in love with Steve while patching him up after Eddie McClellan punched him for harassing Katie Sullivan. He was spitting mad still, 200 pounds of hell in a 90-pound frame. He kept--”_

Steve stops reading and looks up. His heart is hammering in his chest, his fingers and toes are numb, his throat tight. He reads that last entry again. And again. And again. Bucky...Bucky loves him. Bucky  _ loves _ him! Steve is elated. He’s floating, and he feels laughter bubbling up, but it chokes him on its way out because he’s devastated that neither one said anything. All that wasted time they could have had together, and now Steve doesn’t know when or even  _ if  _ Bucky will ever come out of cryo.

He wants to throw something, hit something, maybe travel back in time and grab himself by his slender shoulders and scream at himself to fucking tell Bucky how we feel already, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Because he  _ wants _ us. Against all odds, he wants us back.

Steve starts awake in the morning. His neck is stiff, and there’s a wet spot on his sleeve where he’d drooled in his sleep. Steve crinkles his nose at it and pulls off his shirt. He must have cried or raged himself to sleep last night. He’s not sure which one. Could have been either. Or both, maybe. He knows half a night’s sleep in a dining-room chair hasn’t helped the issue, either, so he decides to eat some breakfast and head to the complex’s gym T’Challa told him about. Maybe he can run his feelings out.

He opens the second notebook after a shower and some lunch. Running hadn’t helped. He was still angry and heartbroken, and from the looks on the faces of the people he was lapping on the track, it showed. They were polite and respectful, let Steve have space, didn’t ask questions. It still felt stifling.

The second notebook simply says “HYDRA,” and, oh, how he wishes he could unsee that. He feels nauseous already and he hasn’t even started reading. He doesn’t want to look. He wants to burn the thing and scatter its ashes to the wind, wants to read it and find every son of a bitch who hurt Bucky and knock their teeth in, wants to turn back time and find Bucky’s body before they do. He feels like he owes Bucky this, like he should know how dearly his mistake cost his friend. That and, well, he's always had a bit of a masochistic streak. He turns the page.

_ “HYDRA doesn’t believe in hot food or hot water.” _

_“There was a woman who liked to play with knives. She would test their sharpness by slicing my skin.”_

_“A man came in one day and told me Steve had died in a plane crash. He laughed at me when I started crying. I choked him. It took six people to pull me off. I didn’t kill him, but I wish I had. All the blood on my hands, and I’d trade it all for his.”_

_“Electricity hurts more than fire.”_

There are accounts of every one of Bucky’s kills in lurid detail.

Steve makes it through half the notebook before he has to stop. He's livid. He's sobbing. He's furious with himself for not finding Bucky. He's guilty. He wants to find every last HYDRA base and burn them to the ground. And he's tired. He's so fucking tired of being sad and angry and alone. He leaves the notebook on the table and makes his way to his bedroom and sleeps the rest of the day away. For the first time, his nightmares don't end with Bucky falling.

It's three days later before he can muster up the courage to open the last notebook. The label on this one is “Cryo Dreams.” Steve cringes as he turns the page, hoping it's not as bad as the last notebook.

Inside he finds...himself. There are pictures of him pasted onto some of the pages, doodles of his shield in the margins. He's in all the dreams, too. Every last one. Good dreams or bad, big or small, Steve is always  _ there.  _ After everything they did to him, everything they stole from him, Steve was the one thing Bucky kept.

There's a dream about a shabby house with a split-rail fence and a room under the eaves. Bucky dreamed about it over and over, little vignettes about how achingly simple and peaceful their life could be there. Steve can see it in his mind’s eye; the peeling paint on the front porch, the giant oak tree that shaded the house from the afternoon sun, that one floorboard that kept squeaking no matter how many times they tried to fix it. Bucky wanted this for them. The more Steve reads, the more he wants it for them, too.

Steve feels a little bubble of hope rise from his stomach, and for the first time in years, he doesn’t quash it down. He lets it rise and spread, lets it warm the bones that never felt fully thawed.   _ Maybe, just maybe, I can have this someday. _

He spends the next hour combing through real estate websites trying to find a shabby little house on a secluded plot of land. 

T’Challa finds Steve once he returned with the rest of his Avenger friends and helped them settle in. It was surprisingly easy to find them and break them out. Steve wonders if Tony or Natasha had anything to do with that.

“Your Highness, thank you again for all of this.”

“You are welcome, Captain. It is my pleasure, truly. I hope your friends will find their stay here enjoyable and shorter than they expect.”

Steve huffs. “And how’s Bucky? Any news?”

T’Challa smiles. “As a matter of fact, your Mr. Stark sent us some very interesting technology while you were away. He called it B.A.R.F., which is an absolutely terrible name; he really should rethink it. The B.A.R.F. technology allows a person to find a traumatic memory, view it, and change the outcome, thereby overcoming the trauma. Stark suggested that perhaps with some modifications, we could use it on Sergeant Barnes to find his trigger words and change their impact.”

Steve holds his body very still as the butterflies in his chest flutter around and around. It’s hard to breathe and the room is spinning. “Do you --” he chokes on the words, clears his throat, tries again.

“Do you think it could work? If you modified it, that is?”

“Only one way to find out for certain, but we are quite sure it will work. We’ve been waiting for your return to try. Would you like to accompany me to the cryo lab?”

The things in Steve’s chest are threatening to burst forth. “It’s ready?”

T’Challa’s smile widens. “Yes, Steve, it’s ready now. We were able to modify the technology to Sergeant Barnes’ unique situation and specifications.”

“God, yeah, let’s -- let’s go!”

Everyone in the cryo lab looks bemused when Steve bursts through the door, barely containing his nervous excitement. He bounds over to Bucky’s cryo tube and puts his hand on the glass.

“I apologize, Captain Rogers, but the tube needs to be clear during the unfreezing process,” a tech says.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Steve takes a few steps back and waits. There’s a loud hiss, and then the icy mist is clearing, and Steve can’t stop bouncing on his feet and smiling. He feels young and free and happy.

Bucky opens his eyes, blinking them rapidly to adjust to the bright room.  _ God, he’s beautiful _ , Steve thinks as a smile splits his face.  _ Please, please let this work. Just let us have this one thing. _ Bucky makes eye contact, and Steve gives a little wave, his smile blindingly bright.

Bucky furrows his brow and tilts his head and looks at Steve, really  _ looks _ at him before breaking out into a smile, too; a big, beautiful smile that crinkles his eyes. Steve can't remember the last time Bucky smiled like that.

Steve smiles back and hopes and hopes and hopes.

 


End file.
